


The spirit of Christmas

by Yeira



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Declarations Of Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 03:19:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16987122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeira/pseuds/Yeira
Summary: On a cold winter day, Sherlock is bored beyond believe. But after an encounter with an "obese red goat", John persuades him into visiting a Christmas market and together, they find out the true meaning of Christmas after all.





	The spirit of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a disclaimer, I don't have any rights regarding the "Sherlock" characters, I've just created this story for fun (it's a Christmas present). I hope you'll enjoy reading and maybe you'll even feel like leaving me feedback.  
> Enjoy! :)

Sherlock angrily drew the curtains and continued to tirelessly wander around the room. John, sitting in his armchair and trying to focus on the newspaper, sighed and put it down.  
“Sherlock, what is it now? Did the neighbours let out their cat again? Did a lady with an ugly hat go by? I'm trying to read the papers and you're behaving like a caged animal. We've just finished an interesting murder investigation yesterday, I haven't even posted on my blog about it yet. Are you bored already? Look, here might be something for you, a burglary under mysterious circumstances...”

John grabbed the paper and searched for the right paragraph. The only cure for his best friend in this state was a case, one, that really got him thinking. Otherwise, he might shoot the wall or relapse back into drugs – both things, that should be prevented at all costs, for his well-being and the safety of his surroundings. John had just started reading the first few lines, when Sherlock already interrupted him.

“Oh John, John, John... this is so simple and boring, I don't even want to think a second about it! Besides that, it was clearly the chef, who used a replica of the house key, he had made years before, when he still had an affair with the mistress. No, this is nothing for me, this is something for Lestrade, who'll happily try to solve this with the small brain of his!”  
Sherlock clapped his hands together and slumped onto the sofa. Letting his fingers run over his face, sighing deeply, he remained like this.

With his brows raised from worry, John got up and opened the curtains again. Looking out onto the wintry Baker Street, he could detect nothing unusual. What could have made Sherlock this angry? Gleaming white snowflakes covered the pathways, a few children were running between the pedestrians, throwing snowballs, and the first Christmas presents were carefully balanced home.  
“What did you close the curtains for? The sun is shining outside, why convert our home into a tomb? It's a beautiful, fresh winter day, we could go for a walk. Maybe that will distract you and lighten your mood. I don't want the smell of your chemical experiments hanging in our kitchen for the next few weeks again.”  
The way he said it made clear, that he was thinking about accidents, not scientifically recognized measurements.

“These flickering, flashing lights distract me! Although maybe at the moment this is no disadvantage, on the contrary, it seems to be your exact goal, desperately trying to find something to alter my mood. You even suggested going for a walk, something you wouldn't normally do in this weather, when we just have had a chase yesterday and you caught a cold. But you still should contact the neighbours and order them to remove it. I don't want to have an interesting case ruined, because an obese, beaming red goat prevents me from fully concentrating! And I don't feel like going out today, what's out there for me? Boring people doing boring business, living their happy, ordinary lives, throwing their hard earned money down the throat of the economy, which is exploiting the so called “holiday of love”. ”

John looked further outside the window, searching for an “obese goat”, when his eyes hit the Christmas lighting, the neighbours had installed on their balcony. It was a reindeer, admittedly a bit corpulent, sitting on a snowman and holding a huge present. Smirking, John turned around and looked at Sherlock, who was still apathetically lying on the sofa. He was used to Sherlock being a bit unworldly by now, but this still surprised him. 

“Sherlock, this is a reindeer! It's a Christmas decoration, that's perfectly fine and normal for this time of the year. If you wander around the streets, you'll notice them everywhere, this one is in fact still really tame. I've seen whole houses blinking red and green. Yesterday, they've set up the big tree by the London Bridge and opened the Christmas markets. You have to understand, that the spirit of Christmas has found it's way into London.” 

After minutes of silence, John turned around, sighed and gave up: Sherlock wouldn't answer, he was probably in his mind palace right now and disturbing him would only annoy him. So John picked up his jacket and gloves and prepared for the cold outside. When he was about to leave the room, Sherlock spoke up, irritation audible in his voice.  
“Where are you going, John? If I were you, I wouldn't risk going outside and worsen my health, especially not without a scarf. Up until now you haven't shown any intention of going, so why have you changed your mind?”  
Sherlock got up from the sofa, suddenly filled with determination, and approached the wardrobe with fast, big steps. His long, slender fingers reached for his purple scarf and with a sweeping, elegant motion, he spun around and wrapped it around John's throat. With both ends still in his hands, Sherlock looked into John's eyes and for both of them, time froze.

John felt the smooth silk of the scarf on his bare skin and fought the urge of burying his nose into the softness and inhaling Sherlock's scent. His flatmate didn't know, what he felt about him; that for him, it had become way more than just friendship. Sherlock usually deduced everything in an instance, there was nothing you could hide from him, but he was blind regarding this matter. Mrs. Hudson knew, Mycroft knew, god, even Moriarty had known it and had made fun of him...but Sherlock was still clueless, that his best friend, John Watson, was in love with him. 

And now they had ended up in this situation, with Sherlock so close to him, that it was painfully difficult, not to touch him. Obviously, Sherlock wasn't thinking about, what he was doing right now – he was just worried about John's health. And that was one of the reasons, why John loved him so much: Sherlock was always pretending to be tough, heartless and cold, but on the inside was the loving, caring heart, he so desperately tried to hide. John suspected, that he had been hurt terribly before, maybe in his childhood, and then had build walls around his little heart to prevent it from shattering again. But whenever John tried to question Mycroft about this, the older Holmes lost colour and John was escorted out by security immediately, hearing nothing of the Holmes for weeks.  
Trying to break the intense eye contact, John diverted his eyes and looked somewhere else, being helplessly drawn to Sherlock's full, tempting lips. He could feel his heart beat accelerate and unconsciously licked over his own bottom lip. The tension broke, when Sherlock let go of the scarf and spoke up.

“W...we should go, John. Show me this “spirit of Christmas” you mentioned, I think the Christmas market would be a suitable place for this. Besides, this will give us the opportunity to visit our lovely neighbours and complain about the lighting.”  
He combed through his fluffy hair with both hands, opened the door and climbed down the stairs, leaving a perplex John behind. Had Sherlock's voice really shivered a little or had John just imagined that? And had there really been a dark glow in his grey eyes? Closing the last buttons of his jacket, John hurried after his best friend, catching up with him and together they walked through the wintry London. They had one goal in mind, but expected different things to happen there: the Christmas market near London Bridge.  
When they arrived, they were immediately enveloped by the scent of mulled wine, roasted almonds and masses of people, both young and old. The air was filled with chatter, the screams of the vendors and Christmas carols, sung by a choir of small children. Sherlock and John fully immersed into the atmosphere, but while John enjoyed being around people and looking at the decorations and stalls, Sherlock visibly felt at unease. There was an overflow of information: the people, the music, the area, the cars...his mind analyzed everything he saw and in the progress almost burned through.

John was a few steps ahead and looked at little wood carved snowmen, when he noticed, that Sherlock hadn't followed him. He turned around and searched the crowd, only to find Sherlock standing frozen in place in the middle of the ongoing stream of humans. His eyes were tirelessly flying around, gluing on one object for no more than a few seconds before hastily moving on.  
John slowly approached his friend and touched his shoulder carefully. His head turned around with a jerk and his eyes focused on John – he looked like a dreamer, who had just woken up from a nightmare.  
“Hey, Sherlock... is everything alright? Maybe we should go somewhere more quiet, away from the big market place.”  
Without waiting for an answer, John grabbed his hand and led him through to a side path, where fewer stalls and thus fewer visitors were. John could sense how tense his friend was and started to feel guilty: He had basically forced him to come here, although Sherlock had clearly said, that he wanted to stay at home. All John had wanted was for him to relax, not to be bored anymore, but now, Sherlock was stressed and overwhelmed and... 

“John, why don't you get us a cup of mulled wine from the shop over there? It's most likely to be the cheapest and best seller on this whole market, so you won't waste any more money than necessary. It'll be relaxing right?”  
Sherlock sounded so different from his usual self, although not many people would have noticed. But John knew him well, so the little shiver and the hidden uncertainty were clearly audible for him. He still decided to follow the plea of his best friend and quickly bought two cups of mulled wine, alcohol might help him. The smell was soothing and relaxing and the warmth of the cup definitely welcome, it brought life back into his frozen fingers. He handed Sherlock the cup and after they had awkwardly toasted to each other, they started drinking. John took a small sip and enjoyed the taste, but Sherlock drank the cup empty in hasty, big gulps. Something was wrong with him, he seemed like a desperate man, who was acquiring liquid courage for an unpleasant confession.

“Well, that definitely was relaxing, right John? Why don't we investigate this music, it looks like a choir of kindergarten children is singing about our “saviour” Jesus Christ. If I'm not mistaken, they also still believe in Santa Clause. Time to correct their view of the world and teach them something important!”  
Sherlock snatched the still full, warm cup out of John's hands, drained it in another big sip and taking long strides, he walked over to the stall, collecting their deposit. John followed him slowly, nerving himself for the upcoming disaster. Looking at his best friend, who now literally rushed towards the choir, he tried to understand, what his problem was.

“What's wrong with him? Now I'm really sorry for bringing him here, he doesn't enjoy it all. And from what he just said, I'll now have the pleasure of caressing crying children. He behaves so frantically, jumping from one action to the next, trying his hardest to distract himself. And that more than usual! But why? Up until now, I thought it might be distraction from his boredom and although he has used alcohol before for that, I don't think this is it today. Something has happened and I haven't noticed...”  
The choir had just finished singing “Come, all ye Shepherds” and parents and visitors applauded, when Sherlock reached them. It seemed like an event of a local kindergarten, the children were dressed in cute costumes, representing angels and saints, and the parents' council sold cookies in a stall next to them. A group of kids also ran around the market, holding a mistletoe over couples, making them kiss, while giggling like crazy.  
John quickened his pace, but when he reached the group, it was already to late. One little girl burst out into tears and crying, she ran into the arms of her mother.  
“Mummy, this man said, that Santa doesn't exist! Baby Jesus won't come either, he said! But I was a good girl, I want my preseeeeents!” 

“Oh, you will get your presents, but not because a magical invention of the salesmen brings them or because the majority of the misled population believes in the birth of a saviour to keep a last flicker of hope in their depressed lives. No, you'll get them, because your parents want to soothe the guilty conscience they have from foisting off the responsibility of your upbringing on the nursery. Mummy and Daddy are to busy kissing the arse of their chef, trying to climb the social ladder, to play with you. I wouldn't be surprised if Mummy also has opened her legs for someone other than...”

“SHERLOCK!”  
Infuriated, John grabbed the collar of Sherlock's coat and pulled him away from the family. How could he have the audacity to not only destroy the intact world view of this little girl, but also insult her parents in the same monologue?! Bowing his head in shame, he apologized multiple, but not nearly enough times, to the mother, while also excusing Sherlock.  
“He had way to much mulled wine, I'll bring him home for sobering up immediately, I'm terribly sorry!”

John ignored all protests from Sherlock until they were around the corner, where he let go of him and looked him in the eyes. Pure anger flared in John's brown eyes and when he saw the indifference in Sherlock's face, he couldn't contain it anymore. His hand smacked Sherlock's cheek and left a red welt behind. He could see his blue eyes widening from shock and pain.

“Don't you dare ask me, what that was for! You KNOW very well and your look of apathy, your almost self-content smirk makes me boil! How can you insult this poor girls Mom after first destroying her fantasies?! What's wrong with you today? And with that I mean you are more wrong than usual. You behave uncontrollably, almost led by instincts, getting drunk, insulting children! It's as if I don't know you anymore...and that scares me...”  
John got quieter the more he talked, the anger disappeared from his soul until only perplexity was left. What he had said in rage was true: At the moment he couldn't predict, what Sherlock was up to next, he couldn't tell, what moved the heart of the detective. The fear that this fact produced was audible in his next sentence.  
“So please, tell me: What has happened, that I haven't noticed. What has happened, that you behave like this?”

Sherlock's voice was filled with a kaleidoscope of emotions: fear, hope, hesitation, but underlying to all of that was a warmth, John had never heard before from Sherlock.  
“What has happened John is very simple. I have realized, that I fell victim to the human weakness, that is called love. I love you John.”

They both stared into each others eyes, unsure about the next step. This huge revelation hung in between them, the time stood still. John had never even dared dreaming about Sherlock saying this to him, but now it was reality and this has changed everything. The big question now was, what will they do with it? Will they kiss, will the behave like a real couple, will they still solve cases together, will they sleep in one bed, will they...  
Their thoughts were interrupted, when two small children in angel costumes came around the corner and plucked on John's sleeve.  
“Hello, Mister. Christmas is the festival of love and we are the worldly bringer of this feeling. So please, help us in our mission of creating love and kiss under this mistletoe!”  
Giggling, the young boy stretched as far as he could and held the mistletoe between John and Sherlock. A wild, hungry fire ignited in Sherlock's blue eyes and with a swift motion, he pulled John towards him and their lips united in a long, wild, passionate kiss.  
John's mind was swept blank, there was no room for thinking anymore, the rest of the world blurred: the only thing, that still mattered was Sherlock, the taste of his lips, his hands on his hips and in his hair... his tongue, pushing against his bottom lip, begging for entry and when he opened his lips, their tongues started a passionate dance. John drowned in the burning blue waters of Sherlock's eyes, he felt his heart beat in his throat, racing as if he had just ran a marathon. Laughs and whistling was heard from the kids and when the two broke the kiss, both of them panted heavily.

“Merry Christmas, John! I think today, we have thoroughly explored the spirit of Christmas together.”


End file.
